


Bildungsroman

by MenthaLightfoot



Series: Bildungsroman [2]
Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Middle School, Multi, Pre-Canon, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MenthaLightfoot/pseuds/MenthaLightfoot
Summary: Oz Yesfirovich is a Princeling of the Shadows, who just wants to be like everyone else. This documents their attempts to do so.





	1. Prologue: Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though he’s stuck in a single room with no memory, Scott is happy. Then he makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue to this story was originally posted as a separate story (also titled Transformation), but if you read it before, I would recommend re-reading it again. I made some changes to reflect new plot elements within this larger story. 
> 
> This will probably be a pretty extensive fic. I see it as my duty to post to completion (excepting major extenuating circumstances), but I can make no promises about the regularity of posting. Let's see where this crazy ride takes us! Enjoy.

Scott wriggled underneath the sheets. They stretched tightly across his body; Nurse had tucked them tightly underneath the mattress, holding his body down onto the bed. She was a really nice lady. She smelled nice, wore pretty flowered dresses, and had the head of an eagle and sixteen rows of razor-sharp teeth—but she would tuck Scott in so tightly that he couldn’t move very much. Last week he had escaped, and she clucked her tongue when she found him clawing at the front door, nails deeply gouging the wood. (The moon was full, and so pretty; he wanted to go out to say hi.)

_“Oh, Scott. You have to stop this.”_

_He snarled, still thinking about the moon. “But—”_

_She put her claws on her hips. “You want to be a good boy, don’t you, Scott?”_

He had frozen. He _did_ want to be a good boy, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Since then, he had mostly been able to keep himself from trying to escape at night. Once the moon wasn’t full anymore it was much easier. She rewarded him with extra raw steak at dinner.

But he still itched, _a lot_. Coarse fur was growing all over his body, and it made him scratch like _crazy_. Right now he was trying to move his arm behind his back, so he could scratch at a new patch that was coming up there.

When he’d woken up for the first time, he’d had almost no fur, and been covered in blood. It had been so cold. His bones and teeth rattled, feeling like they would rip straight out of his skin. He was scared, wanting to run from something that wasn’t chasing him; until he smelled something, and deep within him, an impulse surged. He was so _hungry_. He’d pushed through the pain and the cold and ran towards the smell. He didn’t remember very much after that. When he’d woken up a second time, he was in this room, with Nurse leaning over him, sweating as she tried to hold him down on the mattress. He’d stopped struggling almost immediately.

Now, the room was his. Nurse told him that he would be staying here until he finished transforming. He didn’t really know what that meant, but he’d been here for almost a month now. It was small, smelled like medicine, and had no windows, but it was home. The only home he could remember. 

Memory was funny for Scott. There were a lot of things he couldn’t remember. Some things were crystal clear: the feeling of running, the wind on his face. A stream burbling underneath a worn wooden bridge. Dinner coming fresh out of the oven. Quiet conversation.

Yet he couldn’t remember who was talking. It felt important, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing else came. He knew he was Scott, but couldn’t remember where he’d come from, or anything before he woke up in his bed in Nurse’s office. 

Most important, he couldn’t remember “parents.” It was the thing he most wanted to remember, even though he also couldn’t remember why it was so important. He knew there were parents—most kids had them, and they took care of them and gave them hugs and love and head pats—but he couldn’t remember specific parents. Specifically, _his_ parents.

Nurse said it was normal—“ _someone in your condition will not remember many things_ ”—but it didn’t help his frustration. He wanted to remember so badly.

He went between that, and needing to scratch.

He was about to give up on wiggling and try to use his teeth to rip the sheet when he felt a little shiver go up his back that wasn’t itchiness. It was like the feeling of being watched. Scott lifted his head up, and the edges room got a little darker. A black puddle spread from the crack underneath the door.

Scott blinked, and suddenly another kid was standing there, their back to Scott. They had on a soft-looking yellow jacket with shiny gold buttons, and they were dark—just looking at the back of their head felt like looking up into a starless sky. From out of nowhere, Scott remembered a cool breeze, and the smell of grass: sitting in a huge open field, looking up at the night sky while lying on his back. It made him happy, even though he didn’t know why. 

“Hi!” he said.

The kid jumped about a foot in the air. Two wide eyes gazed at Scott. Suddenly there were stars in the sky.

They backed up against the door, their shoulders hunched, shaking a little.

Scott smiled. “Hey, don’t worry! I’m a good boy, I promise.” He put on his friendliest grin to prove it. “My name’s Scott!”

_“...H-Hi.”_

The inside of Scott’s head rung a little with the words. He heard them inside his head, rather than in his ears like normal. “How did you do that?”

“ _What?_ ” they asked.

“That! I can hear you inside!” he said. “That’s so cool!”

They blushed a little. “ _Um, thanks_.” They tilted their head to the side. “Scott. Is that your family name?”

“Family name? I don’t know what that is. I just know my name is Scott.” He smiled. “It’s a cool name, right?”

They nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Underneath the sheets, Scott’s tail tried to thump in happiness. “Thanks!” _They’re nice!_ “What’s your name?” he asked.

The monster wrung their hands a bit. “...Ozimiri Yesfirovich.”

Scott blinked. He had never met someone with a name like that! He only knew Nurse, and himself. They had as many names as both of them put together! _Wow!_

Then he had an idea. “Hey, you can move your arms, right?”

Ozimiri looked down at their hands, then back up at Scott, nodding.

“I have to scratch my back. Can you pull the sheet out from underneath the mattress? Please? It would be really nice of you!”

Slowly, Ozimiri got up, and gripped the edge of the sheet. They gave a little pull, but it barely budged. They huffed, and pulled harder the second time. They still couldn’t get it, so they set their feet wide apart and began to pull again.

After a really hard pull and a grunt, they tripped and fell back onto their butt. “So-sorry! I’m sorry.” Ozimiri hunched over from their spot on the floor. A cloud of dark mist began to obscure their face.

“It’s okay. Try again! I know you can do it.”

They looked uncertain, but the mist dissipated. They got up and gripped the sheet again. They pulled back with all their might. “Why—ugh!—why is this on so tight?”

“I don’t know. I just know I’m not supposed to escape. But I don’t really want to, anyway.”

“They’re...” Ozimiri huffed, and yanked again. “They’re keeping you in the school?”

“Huh? School?”

With the next tug, the sheet finally came loose. Ozimiri fell back onto their butt again. Scott shot up and enthusiastically scratched his back. “Wow, thanks! You’re really strong!” 

“Not really,” they said.

“You got the sheet out!” That made them 100% strong and cool and smart in Scott’s book. He itched his back with abandon, using the wall as a kind of scratching post. Ozimiri giggled, hiding their lack of visible mouth behind their hands.

“Thanks, Ozra...Ozam. . .” He scrunched his face. “Your name is long. Can I call you something easier?”

They tilted their head to the side. “Like what?”

“Ozmi...Ozm...Oz! What about just Oz?”

“Oz?” They slowly smiled, even though their face didn’t change. He felt that inside his head, too. “I like it,” they said.

“Great! Oz! Hey, are you going to be around more? It’s nice to talk to someone. I like Nurse a lot, but you’re really cool too!” He got another idea. “We should be friends!”

They looked uncertain. “I don’t know if I can. I may go to school here...but my uncle doesn’t want me to.”

He did know what school was. Faintly, like the memory of ‘parents’, he remembered it: kids went there to learn reading and writing and arithmetic. There was a room with desks, and the tickle of chalk in his nose. He didn’t feel particularly happy when he thought about it, though. He could feel sunshine through the windows, and he wanted to go outside, and play in the woods.

Seeing Oz every day would be awesome, though. “I hope so! It would be fun to see you again.”

They looked uncertain. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

Nurse’s voice floated through the door, though it was still far away. “ _Highly excitable...this... impossible._ ”

Oz flinched. “Oh no.”

Scott tilted his head, and then laughed. “Don’t worry! Nurse is really nice. She gnashes her teeth like that when she likes you!”

“It’s not the nurse.” Oz looked around frantically, and whispered, “It’s my uncle. I got away from him for a minute, but he’s looking for me.”

“And you don’t want him to find you?” Uncle wasn’t as clear as “parents,” but from what Scott could remember, it wasn’t anyone to be afraid of. 

They put their hand over Scott’s mouth, and the inside of his head echoed. “ _Shhh!_ ”

They were both still, and then another voice: _“...it will only take a minute. I apologize, Nurse Samira, we’ll be gone as soon as we find…”_

“I have to hide,” Oz whispered.

There was nowhere to hide, except under Scott’s bed. He’d already tried once to hide under there to get out to see the moon—it didn’t work. But Oz looked worried, so Scott thought as hard as he could.

“Hey, over here!”

“Huh?”

Scott didn’t wait. He grabbed Oz’s hand, and pulled them until they crawled over the bed, and into the corner just behind it. Then he took his sheet, and arranged it so that it looked like he had kicked it off the bed into a pile. “Don’t move, okay?”

Oz nodded, and then went completely still. Scott blinked, and for a second he wondered how his sheets got there. Then he remembered. _Wow, they’re really good at this!_

The voices rose again.

_“What’s in that room?”_

Then he heard Nurse’s voice. _“No one is in there, I assure you. We’re housing a were-child in there. Recently turned.”_

_“Then it is of utmost importance to assure that my charge is not in there.”_

_“I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours. No one has gone anywhere near that door, and it’s locked.”_

_“They are capable of fazing through even the slightest shadow. A locked door will hardly be a deterrent._

The knob turned, and Scott quickly flopped on his back. He opened one eye to look at the sheet-pile. It didn’t move an inch. He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

The door opened, and there was a pause.

Nurse sighed. “Oh, Scott.” He could feel her frowning at his escape, and it took all of his strength not to giggle. He kept his breathing even.

Then, he felt a deep chill. It crawled slowly, clawing up his back. His lungs constricted, and in the back of his mind, he felt the dark chill of a night wind—a tree limb snapping—the feeling of _teeth, biting, and blood running down his back and chest, blood, so much blood—_

He shot up and screamed. It slowly turned into a full-on howl.

“Scott!” Nurse came over to him, and hugged him. He felt a little better. “Principal Llorona, this is unacceptable!”

“ _Forgive me. Sometimes it can’t be helped. Some monsters are highly sensitive to our abilities_.” Another chill ran down Scott’s back, and he understood much better why Oz wanted to hide from their uncle. Like Oz’s smile, Scott felt his voice rather than heard it. But Oz made him feel so happy—this made him feel terrified. Cold, icy, alone.

He was worse to look at: an endless void, impossibly tall, with eyes like shards of sharp glass.

 _“I imagine his recent...trauma makes him more susceptible. As soon as I have my charge, we will take our leave,”_ he said.

“Well as you can _see_ , they’re not here,” Nurse said.

“ _Precisely the opposite. You cannot see_.” He cleared his throat. “ ** _Ozimiri_**.”

It was quiet, even as Scott’s heart pounded against his ribcage. Then the sheet shifted, and Oz’s face peered out. He felt their voice—it wasn’t scary at all, and Scott latched onto it like a ray of moonlight in a dark forest. “ _Uncle—_ ”

“ _Come here_.”

Oz looked mournfully at Scott. They sighed, and got up off the floor, folding the sheet messily around their arm and putting it on the foot of the bed. They went over to their uncle. Scott couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds—it made the chills worse, and he felt so scared.

_“We are going home,” Oz’s uncle said._

They nodded mournfully. “Bye, Scott,” they said, out loud this time.

Oz’s uncle put an arm around their shoulders, and began to lead them out. Scott made himself sit up, despite the deep desire to be far, far away from that man. “Nurse!”

Nurse looked at him, and Oz looked back, too.

“Can Oz come to visit again?”

Oz’s uncle stopped, and looked back at him over his shoulder. Scott felt that fear again, so instead he looked at Oz, and that helped. He grinned. “You’re really nice. Please come back?”

The fear crawled harder up his back, and he felt like he might throw up. He grinned, hoping it would make him look braver than he felt. Oz smiled at them, and the tiniest flame of happiness sparked in his heart. _My friend, Oz!_

After a moment’s silence, Oz’s uncle said, _“Come.”_

Nurse grabbed the knob, and began to pull the door closed. “I’ll be back to tuck you back in, Scott. _Don’t_ scratch.”

Scott leaned forward in bed, trying to catch one last glimpse of Oz, but the door closed. _Aww, man._

When Nurse came back, she had a stapler with her. “You’re very resilient, Scott. When you finish transforming, it will be a great asset to you. Until then—” She began stapling the sheet to the bedframe. “We need to make sure that you don’t get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Oz’s surname: It’s based on a patronymic Russian surname, which are formed from an individual’s father’s first name. For example, the name Petrovich means “son of Peter”. These names also express gender, so female children of the same father would have different endings. If man whose surname is Petrovich would have a sister, her last name would be “Petrova.” In this AU, the Shadow kingdom is a matriarchy, so children take their mothers’ last name. Thus, Yesfir (Oz's mom) + ovich (“son of”) = Yesfirovich, son of Esther. Oz is non-binary in this story, but Russian names are always gendered, so they had to make a choice.


	2. Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Ozimiri Yesfirovich.

Walking into Spooky Middle School was the freest Oz had felt in a long time. The paint was peeling from the walls in a lot of places and it smelled like sweaty socks and desperation, but it was their ticket to a new life.

Only half the lights were on, and sunlight streamed in uneven bars through the glass front doors. Along the back wall was a long, darkened display case with student art projects inside. As they peered into the semi-darkness, the edges of their Form softened, spreading out comfortably into the thicker, more comfortable shadows, and their phobias turned this way and that, gazing with wide, reverent eyes.

Vadim gestured with one sweeping hand. “ _This_ is what you want to present to the Queen?”

“…It’s wonderful,” they breathed.

They didn’t see Vadim roll his eyes.

The lights flicked on, and to their embarrassment Ozimiri jumped a bit, their Form re-solidifying with a little pop. A nice-looking Asian woman with endlessly long hair, a checkered sundress, a pot-belly, and all her ribs stood near the display case. “Hi there! I’m Mrs. May Egui. I’m the guidance counselor here at Spooky Middle School.” She shook Vadim’s hand hard, not noticing the dismayed look on his face. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place! Where did you folks say you were coming from?”

“The Shadow Kingdom, the Seat of Terror, the Abyss of this World and the Worlds Below."

"Ooh, well that's a journey!

Vadim sighed. "Indeed. This is my charge, Ozimiri Yesfirovich, Princeling of the Shadows. I am Count Vadimas Vytautas Volynsky-Liubarkoskas. It’s my duty to evaluate whether or not this...” His eyes stopped to rest on the door to the office. Its window was cracked. “...institution, is suitable for the education of their Highness the Most Terrifying and Cruel.”

They wanted to roll their eyes, but they didn’t dare. Mrs. Egui, though, seemed to not even notice. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be very happy here! We’ll head right on over to my office, just down the hall.”

Their stomach twisted.

Their uncle didn’t correct her about their pronouns.

Ozimiri swallowed thickly. As they passed the glass case, they caught a glimpse of their own reflection. They avoided looking directly into mirrors if they could help it, but now they hesitated. They scanned over their short hair, and the jacket of their field military uniform with more subtle gold buttons. They’d begged to be allowed to wear normal clothes for the tour, but Vadim had shot it down. Still, when they left the house they’d felt pretty good about how they’d looked.

Now, everything seemed just a touch wrong, even if they didn't know why.

_Damn it._

* * *

Besides people’s abilities to shift Form at will and spawn fear and terror, the Shadow Kingdom was a pretty typical place. There were regular people, who went about living their daily lives—doctors and hairdressers, musicians and office workers. There were cities with bakeries and record stores and banks.

Ozimiri wasn’t so lucky to be born a commoner. If they had been, they wouldn’t have had to make a special request to go to public school. Their mother, Gintara, was Queen of All Shadows, Master of Unspeakable Horrors, Dominatrix of Fear and Suffering. Her family had ruled the Shadow Realm for millennia, minus a few pesky usurpations here and there. She had taken power from her two older sisters (both of whom she’d promptly Destroyed) and ended the authoritarian regime which had reigned since the time of her grandmother, installing a socialist monarchy in its place.

She was a popular monarch, not only because she’d gotten rid of things like the secret police and implemented universal healthcare, but because she believed that the law should provide order, and based her definition of order on common sense. Shadows didn’t have to come begging on their knees to the queen for simple things like a driver’s license, or contracts to carry out large-scale evisceration. Instead, they worked through an incredibly complex and byzantine bureaucracy. You might stand in line for more than a day waiting for a form that you needed, but at the end of that line you would get it, and you didn’t have to worry about being disarticulated for not groveling enough. Most shadows made the best of the wait by having scaring contests, seeing who could generate the best or most creative Terror in the people in line around them. You got a point for every shadow that stepped out of line. 

To be fair, wasn’t like they were locked away in a tall tower, or forced by their moms to stay out of the sunlight to preserve porcelain, jet-black skin, like you might read about in certain outdated books. (Really, the kingdoms in fairy tales were completely draconian. Ozimiri had read about them in Feminist Studies I, the most basic class required for both nobility and commoners, so that they could learn the history of the Dark Ages and the central role of their kingdom in founding a new enlightened society.) But it meant that Ozimiri was _supposed to be_ so many things: quiet and graceful, yet violent and terrifying; intelligent, but modest; independent, yet always showing deference to their mother and Vadim, lest they be suspected of plotting an uprising. In other words, doing everything was proper for a shadow “of their station.”

This was made much worse by the fact that although they were a Princeling, they had been born a Princess.

Noble women of the Shadow Kingdom were supposed to be strong, powerful, terrifying: Fear personified. They were out to kill (literally) and usually did so looking perfectly put together in high heels and a gown. From the get-go, it was obvious that “Ozimira” didn’t measure up. They weren’t nearly as tall, strong, or terrifying as their sisters, who both looked like Yesfir—tall, graceful, and breath-taking, with long pitch-black hair that flowed like the Milky Way down their backs. Their beauty really helped in their ability to inspire terror: no one was prepared (especially humans, with their strange ideas about women) when something so beautiful grew endless rows of razor-sharp teeth perfect for tearing out throats.

Meanwhile, when Ozimiri looked in the mirror, it felt like their face was distending—and not in a good way, like when your Form shifted to induce bloodcurdling fear. The only person scared was them, and for a long time they thought that it was something in their head, maybe something that had to happen so they could finally become the beautiful terror that they were meant to be. After all, hadn't they always been told that being a woman a wonderful thing? Didn't their ancestors fight centuries of misogynist discourse in order to gain recognition for all the things that made them so?

They really, really tried to make that work.

For example: On the fifteenth anniversary of their manifestation, they were supposed to have their first Reckoning, attended by all the nobility. (The commoners had better things to do, like going to work.) It displayed the power and prestige of the Royal Family, as well as crushing any wayward hopes, if someone was thinking of leading a coup.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Rūta told them. “As soon as you Destroy your first victim, you don’t even notice the crowd.”

“It’s fun as hell,” Serafina said.

“And we can help you prepare. The one thing I wish I had known how to do before going on to the killing field was how to snap a neck properly.”

The entire time they were telling them this, Rūta combed her fingers through Ozimiri’s hair, which back then had been as long as theirs. They tried to focus on the gentleness of her fingers, rather than the complete terror they felt at having to go through with the Reckoning. For nearly a month they walked around constantly feeling like they were about to throw up.

It was completely wrong. A Reckoning was supposed to be one of the most exciting moments in a noble she-shadow’s life, since it was their first opportunity to publicly show off their strength.

The week before the Reckoning, it all fell apart. At breakfast their mother turned to them and said, “Your lessons will start a few hours later than usual. We need to have your formal wear fitted."

“And, you’ll be able to wear it again,” Vadim said. “I was _finally_ able to find a suitable fabric in our family’s colors which will be stain-resistant to viscera.”

Their spoonful of cereal stopped half-way to their mouth; the small bit of appetite that they’d had was gone. Gintara smiled, her brow creasing. “Remember, you only have to reach the visceral level once.” As if that even mattered. 

Yesfir reached out and patted their hand. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart.” Born a commoner, she had never had to go through a Reckoning herself, and she looked as uncertain as they felt. They grabbed her hand and gripped it tightly.

Serafina rolled her eyes. “It’ll be _fine._ Ozimira’s working herself up over nothing. It’s fun once you hit bloodlust.”

“This fitting shouldn’t take too long,” Vadim said to them. “It’s a beautiful gown, if I may say so myself.”

“I liked the outfit with pants that Serafina wore. They were very sharp,” Gintara said.

“Of course, but a ball gown is traditional,” Vadim said.

 _A gown._ They were going to be in front of all those people, trying to act like they were nothing but thrilled to be bathing in blood and viscera, _in a gown_. Their stomach jolted, and they desperately wanted to say something, anything, that would make their family stop talking about it. That would make it go away.

Yesfir bent a little, trying to catch their eye. “Honey? Are you okay?”

There was one last, dim thought left, that scared them more than anything else. That, maybe, after the Reckoning, everything would be all right. That whatever this was, it would be released on the killing field, and "she" would emerge exactly as she was supposed to be.

It scared them, because the only thing they could think was: _That's not going to happen. I won’t let that happen._

_I don't want it to._

It shook them to their core, because it opened a door, a third door, that they had never fully realized was there.

Ozimiri squeezed their mom’s hand even tighter, and before they fully realized what was happening, they blurted out: “I don’t want to Destroy anybody!”

The breakfast table went silent. The weight of their mother and sisters’ eyes on them, wide as moons, made them start babbling, wringing their hands. “I get that it’s, like, a tradition, and the bloodlust thing, I totally understand the appeal for some people, but, um, maybe…c-could I…could I not have a Reckoning?”

Thank god for their mom, who insisted that they had to cancel the whole thing.  

Little by little, they made small changes that nevertheless made them feel taller and stronger. They cut their hair; they stopped wearing dresses completely. And to their amazement, no one seemed to notice. The one nice thing about being way less attractive than your sisters was that no one was looking at you anyway. After all, it wasn’t like there were no noble she-shadows who wore their hair short, preferred pants to dresses, or were outright butch: for example, their mother. For a few months while they tried to figure themself out, they’d watched their mother very closely: how she dressed, how she styled her hair, and carried herself. She actually seemed to enjoy having them around more, even when Rūta and Vadim thought they were getting underfoot. Yet when they copied her, it didn’t make them feel any better; and when they looked at someone like Vadim, they didn’t feel like that was right, either.   

When they finally settled, a little uncertainly, that being either one was never going to work out, it was the truest they felt in a while.

* * *

They sat in Mrs. Egui’s chilly office for nearly two hours. She explained the school’s curriculum, and gave them a list of electives (students in their last year got to pick two). And though his face didn’t move an inch, Ozimiri could tell that the more Vadim heard, the more horrified, and gleeful, he became. This school was no where _near_ the level of what “a princeling of their station” should be afforded, which was very good for him, because he wanted Ozimiri to stay at home and take lessons with _him_.

Vadim was their mother’s brother, but not by blood. He’d been born to an ancient noble family who had been completely decimated in the Drevlian War of 1391. For some reason Ozimiri’s grandmother, a she-shadow famous for her ruthlessness, had taken pity on him and adopted him as her own. (A mistake on their part, the nobility whispered. When Ozimiri’s mother had risen to power, he’d been instrumental in helping her unseat her two older sisters and install herself on the throne.)

Not everything was awful about Vadim. He was intelligent, elegant, and it would be laughable to say that no one was terrified of him just because he was a man. He always dressed impeccably, and after Ozimiri had refused to wear dresses anymore, he’d been helpful in finding formal clothes that didn’t make them feel sick.

What ruined it, was that Vadim was only doing it because he wanted them to somehow magically turn out to be a boy.

Vadim had been raised in the most traditional way, and the education he’d been given would be deeply insulting to he-shadows now. He had private lessons at home: first with Ozimiri’s grandmother’s husband, and after he had died, a private tutor, in the subjects of political science, history, telepathy, furniture making, household management, and comportment. He had only had very basics in sorcery or science, and no literature at all, because at the time it was thought that reading (especially novels) was dangerous to a young man’s character. Books could give a boy awful ideas, like thinking it was a good idea to run away to the city and become a stock broker, or open a micro-brewery, or wander aimlessly across the country trying to write a novel.

Those ideas had been long left behind. He-shadows had shown they could do anything without reverting back to misogyny or self-absorption, and stock brokerage, brewing, and writing had become dreams of he- and she-shadows alike. Outwardly, Vadim moved with the times; but ever since Ozimiri had come out, he believed that he had the right to take charge of their education.

Mrs. Egui was ready to pull out registration forms when Vadim stopped her. “The final decision on whether or not the Princeling will attend this school has yet to be made, and is the sole decision of her Majesty the queen, as the Princeling has made a formal request. That being said.” He smiled, and it felt like being cut with broken glass. “I have a few questions.”

It was more than a few. He asked about the school’s disciplinary code, its student government system, nursing and mental health services, the nutrition plan in the school’s cafeteria. It only took about 10 minutes for Ozimiri to see that he was only putting half the heart into it—like he actually cared about whether or not there were alternative dietary options for students who survived on crushed souls and fear, at a school that he didn’t even want them to attend. He was using it as a chance to induce Fear in Mrs. Egui. The more specific his questions got, the more nervous she looked. She started shaking when he asked about extracurriculars. Oz felt sorry for her. She probably hadn’t been expecting to be grilled, and didn’t deserve this. It was impressive, though, that she hadn’t broken down yet. She didn’t even look close. They’d seen Vadim send much stronger monsters into complete hysterical madness, especially when something about them annoyed him, like Mrs. Egui’s too-casual, too-friendly way of conversation.

After _another thirty minutes_ , Oz felt a stitch forming in their back. When they were in public they were expected to sit upright with perfect posture, as was proper of a shadow of their station. It was annoying—their Form already didn’t like being stuffed into a rigidly solid state for so long, and then to sit back straight, knees together, hands-in-lap was excruciating. They desperately wanted to slouch, just for a second. Even as they thought it, though, they saw Vadim glance at them from the corner of their eye. They bit the inside of their cheek.

 _Finally_ , Vadim smiled a cursory smile. “I would like to see the facilities. Then I will make a full report to the queen, and she will make the final pronouncement.”

Mrs. Egui looked close to tears. “Of course. I’d be happy to.” Her voice was flat and hollow. Vadim smiled, for real this time, like a knife slash across his face.

They couldn’t sit like that for another second. They quickly stood up, and before Vadim could make any comment, they said, “I’ll get the door for you!”

They pushed it open, but it hit against someone. They peeked out, and came face-to-face with a woman as tall as their mother. “Oh!”

Mrs. Egui seemed nice enough, but this woman was scary gorgeous. Her dull, blinded eyes were bleeding black blood that dripped on the floor; her teeth were straight and moldy; her ripped, stained dress added just a touch of elegance. “O-oh. I’m s-sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t see you.”

Mrs. Egui’s face brightened considerably when she saw her. “Oh, Principal Llorona! This is our new student, Ozimirna Yesfirovich.”

“My name is Ozimiri,” they said, but she didn’t hear them.

“Pleasure,” the principal said shortly. She didn’t offer Vadim her hand, which clutched a pink glittery clipboard. “A pleasure to meet you, Ozimiri, and I look forward to seeing you in the fall. I must be going. We’re doing our safety and anti-virus checks today on all the school’s electronics, and it’s a delicate process.”

“I was just about to give them the _grand tour_ ,” Mrs. Egui said.

Vadim smiled easily, and put a hand lightly on the crook of Principal Llorona’s elbow. “Actually, I hope it’s not too much to ask, but…” He raised an eyebrow. “I would prefer if you would lead us yourself. I would love an administrator’s opinion on a few matters.”

She blinked a few times, the sightless mist of her eyes swirling. “Of course. It would be no trouble. Mrs. Egui, I'll take it from here.” 

Mrs. Egui looked surprised. “But…”

“We won’t impose on her for too long, I assure you. Besides, you look like you could use a cup of tea.”

Ozimiri used telepathy to sneak into the very back corner of Vadim’s mind, like he’d taught them to do when they really wanted to scare someone. They whispered, “ _You’re not supposed to do that._ ”

He actually jumped (their phobia held up one little finger—one point for them) and snipped back at them, “ _Don’t question me, Princeling. Consider this a lesson, and give your full attention._ ”

Principal Llorona’s heels rapped sharply on the squiggly-patterned linoleum. She walked them quickly through the classrooms and the gym. Ozimiri tried to imagine it full of kids, monsters talking and laughing, throwing balls of paper. In their mind, they could see themself walking down the hallway, and they weren’t a princeling at all. After all, no one would have to know, unless they told them.

 _I could learn how to skateboard, and sit out on front steps and smoke and think deep, meaningful thoughts._ But they thought they'd look pretty stupid in kneepads. _Ooh, or, I could start a spy ring that mass-produces government secrets to sell to other governments._ It would be hilarious, and fun, to watch them try to figure out which ones were true, and which were lies.

For once in their life they could be just like everyone else.

They turned down another hallway, passing a large set of double doors. Music was coming out from under the door, but Principal Llorona didn't slow down. "Our music department," she said. “Mr. LaGrange is hosting summer band camp now.”

Ozimiri peeked in through the thin window. They caught sight of a few kids, part of the horns section, laughing and tooting around on their instruments. They tried to spot the piano, but before they could there was a sharp cough, and Vadim gave them a look. " _Your Highness. Come._ "

" _Can't we stop just for—"_

 _"Now, your Highness._ "

They sighed, gave the door one last look, and followed.

The library was the only thing that was a bit of a let-down. Their mother had the most beautiful study, with a low arched ceiling painted with a stormy sky, plush armchairs, and tall wooden bookcases with glass doors. It was too formal for them to feel comfortable using (she sometimes held evening audiences there, when no one who annoyed her was invited) but there were books all over their house, packed into heavy, elaborately carved shelves with more than enough plush shadows to tuck yourself into with a book.

This library was lit with sallow fluorescent lights. The low wooden tables had names and swear words carved into them, and the seats were covered in an awful scratchy orange fabric. The books, though, were just _out_ , like at the public library in downtown Monstropolis.

“I-I can take books off the shelf by myself?” they asked.

Principal Llorona gave them an odd look. “You _read_ , I assume? Well, that will certainly be change of pace for Ms. Grey. Most students only come in to use the computers.” She glanced at them, a look of distrust in her eyes.

Vadim cleared his throat. “Do you have a list of books contained in this library?” Ozimiri quietly groaned. No doubt it was to cross-reference them against Memo No. 712-Delta, the list of Forbidden and Subversive Books.

They left the library. They were about to head towards the subterranean dungeons where detention was held when someone called out, “Principal Llorona!” It was Mrs. Egui. Her long hair dragged on the floor, picking up dust bunnies and a broken pencil along the way. “It’s the coffee machine in the teacher’s lounge. And the others are joining!” From down the hall, there was a loud metallic grinding, what sounded like a dozen or more soda cans being punctured. The faint smell of sugar floated on the air.

As if she were coming out of a trance, Principal Llorona’s eyes sharpened. “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment. This is something that requires my immediate action.”

“Is something wrong?” Vadim asked.

“Not if we act quickly,” she said.

Their phobias rustled underneath their skin. Oz turned to their left shoulder, and it pointed to the slats of a locker. In the corner of their eye, they saw a vision of themself taking a few steps back out of their uncle’s line of vision, and slipping into the shadows.

“ _I can’t_ ,” they said.

The phobias chittered, giving them a thumbs up and rooting with their little fists.

“—unfortunate but necessary. We’re in negotiations with the principal and teachers at the High School to form an anti-robot and roboracism alliance.”

“Really? I had no idea this school would be so advanced in anti-radical studies.”

Principal Llorona grabbed the little hammer next to the glass case, smashed it, and pulled out up a long, glowing purple lance from next to the fire extinguisher. Someone had tied a school pennant to the end just underneath the blade. “We do our best, despite the recent budget cuts.”

“If you would like, I would be more than happy to help.” Vadim took a step towards her, smiled softly, and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve helped put down more than one uprising in my day.” Principal Llorona smiled, eyeing him up and down. Ozimiri silently gagged.

They took one step back. Vadim wanted to flirt? Fine. They wouldn’t stand around to watch it.

They laughed as they skipped from shadow to shadow, shifting their Form just right to fit in between two books, or the shadow of a door, or the underside of a chalk tray. Before they realized it, they were hanging by their legs from the basketball hoop in the gym, having got twisted up in the many different shadows being cast by the net.

Their right phobia seeped down from their shoulder. It bubbled, growing and growing, until it was as tall as the hoop. Two bright emerald eyes grew out of its usual white sockets, and a muzzle, and then they felt the warm breath of a tiger, but with the soft cooling breeze of wings.

Ozimiri giggled. “Nice one. It’s a good look for you.”

It purred, and nuzzled them before offering its black-and-white striped back. Oz had just stepped onto the scuffed floor of the gym when the ground shook. A voice came out from a dozen different directions, making their head ring. “ ** _OZIMIRI_**.”

Their uncle had realized they were gone. 

The phobia shrunk back to its normal size, and hid in Ozimiri’s short hair, ruffling it out of the neat finger waves that their uncle had styled that morning. They looked over their shoulder.  “We better hide.”

They kept low in shadows along the floor while their phobias extended outward, checking for anyone who was coming. They were actually lost by this point—give them a break, it was their first time at this school—and finally decided just to pick a door. It turned out to be the Nurse’s office—and the Nurse was _right there_ , working on something. They nearly had a heart attack, until they saw she had headphones on. They edged along the wall before slipping underneath a second door behind her.

This room was much dimmer, and from feeling the shadow of the keyhole, they could tell it was locked. They could hide here, at least, until they came up with some kind of a plan. “ _See, this is what I mean_ ,” they said to their phobias. “ _Stepping out of your comfort zone seems like a great idea until you get screwed over. I hope you like home school, because if I have to suffer, so do you_.”

“Hi!”

They whipped around, and panicked. For a second, they thought it was a _human_ staring back at them, and they backed up against the door, eyes wide. They could practically imagine Serafina in their mind rolling her eyes at them, and saying, _“You’re manifested of fear and hopelessness, Ozimiri. You scare them, remember?_

“Hey, don’t worry! I’m a good boy, I promise.” He grinned. Some of his teeth were much larger and _sharper_ than the others, and their heart gave another little jolt. “My name’s Scott!”

Looking at him (or maybe them? or she? they couldn’t just assume) a little more closely, it was a monster…of _some_ kind? Scott had fur that was grew in thick tufts, not like a human at all. Even though they usually didn’t like to do this, they probed a little into Scott’s mind, which was practically an open book. They felt an overwhelming urge to scratch, making their phobias shiver in their hiding spot, and some stray, wandering thoughts about the moon.

 _A werewolf._ They had never seen one this close before. Though Scott definitely didn’t look like any werewolf they’d ever seen before.

They realized Scott was still looking at them, waiting for them to say something, and they felt like an idiot. “ _...H-Hi._ ” Immediately, they cringed. _Nice one, Ozimiri. Very erudite.  
_

 But Scott gasped excitedly. “How did you do that?”

“ _What?"_ they asked.

“That! I can hear you inside!” he said. “That’s so _cool_!”

They were a little taken aback. No one had ever complimented them on their telepathy before, except their mother, and she _had_ to do that. “ _Um, thanks_.”

There was something a little strange about Scott. Usually Ozimiri could pick up on the edges of someone's life story without too much effort. Monsters and humans were so bound up in their lives that they wore their hearts, aches, and problems on their sleeves, something that could be sensed, if you knew how to see. It was a skill that some shadows were better at than others, and Vadim, their mother, and their mom had been shocked at how much Ozimiri could tell just by looking at someone. They didn’t like to use it, though, to their sisters’ chagrin. It felt too intrusive to dig around in people’s private lives like that.

Yet the air around Scott was totally blank. Their name was Scott, and apparently, they (he? she?) _lived_ in the school. That's all they knew, and all Scott seemed to know, too. They hadn't even known what a family name _was_. But, on the other hand, it meant that Ozimiri’s family name didn’t matter, either. Scott didn’t seem to care about those things.  

Then, out of the blue, Scott gave Ozimiri a new name. Once freed from the tyranny of the sheet and scratching with abandon (something that made him look so funny Ozimiri couldn’t help from giggling), Scott said, “Thanks, Ozra…Ozam…Your name is long. Can I call you something easier?”

Their anxiety returned. The only nickname they ever had, _twerp_ , had been given to them by Serafina. “Like what?”

“Ozmi…Ozm…Oz! What about just Oz?”

“Oz?” It fit snugly into all their corners; in a way they didn't know a name could. “I like it.” Scott grinned, and a laugh bubbled up inside them.

“Great! Oz! Hey, are you going to be around more? It’s nice to talk to someone. I like Nurse a lot, but you’re really cool too! We should be friends!”

Oz blinked. “…really?”

“Yeah!”

No one had ever said that to them before.

* * *

Being Princeling of the Shadows severely limited the social circles that you ran in. Ozimiri had been homeschooled for their entire life, and when walked in the cities and desolate wastelands of the Shadow Kingdom, everyone knew exactly who they were, and gave them a wide berth (or came up to ask them if they could have requests expedited, which they didn’t have jurisdiction to do). They didn’t even have servants around the house. Theirs was a good socialist kingdom, with monarchs who were enlightened enough to cook their own meals and do their own laundry.

They hadn’t had friends their own age amongst the nobility of the Shadow Kingdom. They were a little too quiet, and not violent enough to make themself seen. Once they came out, the female nobles in particular kept their distance. They couldn’t openly deride Ozimiri because of the law, but it was pretty clear that most of them thought they were really a girl who couldn’t “woman up.” That was fine with Oz. All those countesses, duchesses, baronesses, and knights cared about was talking about was who had power, who might fall from it, and how many Fearmongers they could marshal.

The best friends they had were their phobias, which were caught in a similar situation. Smaller beings made coagulated Fear, most shadow people didn’t think they had much to say. Sometimes they didn’t—they were _very_ private monsters—but that’s why they liked Ozimiri. When they wanted to keep to themselves, they did, and were more than happy to listen to them talk; when they had something to say, they said it to Ozimiri.

It wasn’t the same as being friends with other kids, though. The phobias kept their own schedule.

If they waited a year, for high school they would probably be sent to St. Caim-of-the-Fens, an elite private school that the women in their family had attended since it’s founding in 400CE. Their mother had gone, as had Rūta and Serafina, who were fondly remembered as some of its best students.

That was precisely the problem. Everyone would already know exactly who they were, and who their sisters and their parents were. It was exactly like hanging out in the royal court, where people would look you over, trying to guess your title rather than asking you your name.

Back when Serafina was still in St. Caim’s, during one of the school galas-slash-networking events held every semester, Ozimiri had tried to make friends. A small group of kids their age had clustered in one of the corners. (You could tell, because they were standing far, far away from anyone who might have been their parents, but were also resolutely being ignored by the actual students, who wouldn’t have been caught dead with a little kid who hadn’t attended St. Caim’s.) They’d stood within hearing distance for a few minutes, listening to the conversation, waiting for a moment they could join in, and trying to work up the nerve to actually do it.

An incubus with carefully moussed hair was showing everyone an app on their phone. “It’s awesome. It’s called StarBlazed.”

A girl with lustrous green scales set with emeralds raised an eyebrow. “Is this like SuperNova? Because we all know that’s so last year.”

“No, no, it’s totally different. It gets you high. By like, recreating the vacuum of space.”

Their heart lifted, because that was something they knew a little bit about. They took half a step, then hesitated— _maybe this is a bad time, maybe a better moment will come_ —but their phobias slipped under their feet and slid them forward.

The two of them jumped a little. Ozimiri swallowed, but seeing their phobias rooting for them, took a bracing breath and said, “That sounds like this poem I read once.”

The two just stared at them, so they went on. “It’s this poem, called _20,000 Leagues Over the Moon_ , about going into space for the very first time. See, since shadow-beings can travel throughs shadows, and a whole lot of outer space completely lacks light, the author got the idea that they could just _zip_ and be in space. And he did! Anyway, the poem describes that feeling. I’ve never been to space, obviously, my mom would kill me if I went that far before I got my license, but it really makes you feel like you’ve been there.” They weren’t even describing half of what they wanted to say. Some of the passages that described the simultaneous feeling of breathlessness (from the void crushing their Form) and fullness from the sheer beauty of it all had brought Oz to tears. But from the looks on the kids’ faces, they could tell that they were babbling.

The girl and guy looked at each other, then at Ozimiri. “Who are you?” they asked.

“O-oh, right! My name i-is Ozimiri,” they said.

The girl shook her head. “No. _Who are you_?”

 “I…I just told you?”

She rolled her eyes. “My mom is Swampey Johnson, the fashion designer? And his dad invented the psychedelic toaster. Soooo. Who are you?” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, wait, I know who you are. You’re Serafina Kaivaltytė’s sister! So, you’re like, a Princess, too, right?”

 _Ugh_. “…sibling. I use they/them pronouns?” They hesitated. “…yeah. I’m a Princeling.”  

“Oh, sorry. Princeling. So you can, like, order people around? And if they annoy you just go ‘off with their heads’?”

“Oh my god, that would be _so_ useful. Like if when my butler brings me the wrong sandwich, I could just _get rid of him._ He always forgets the Blue Poupon!”

“OMG, so annoying,” the girl rolled her eyes. “So, like, can you?” she asked.

“…why would I want to do that?” they asked.

They stared again. “Oh my god,” she said.

“How tragic,” the boy said. Without another word, the entire group walked to another part of the ballroom.  

* * *

Now Scott was looking at them, eyes so sweet and kind, scratching like mad, having just told them that he was excited to see them again.

They _had_ to go to school here.

 _Whoa there_ , they thought to themself. This was the danger zone in most of their conversations: the point where if they weren’t careful, they would descend into babbling, and most people would start to look at them like they were touched in the head. They were scrambling for something suitably cool to say, when they heard the nurse talking to someone—the Principal and Vadim.

They knew from the moment they’d run off that they were on borrowed time, and that when Vadim found them, he wouldn't be pleased. When they heard his voice, though, they felt the coldest, angriest stab of Fear. “Oh no.”

Scott had the idea to hide them under a sheet, as if he had kicked them off into a pile on the floor. It wasn’t going to work on their Uncle for a second, but they tried it anyway, partly because Scott was being so nice, and partly because they were scared.

At least Vadim kept to his usual Form, rather than distending into whatever abomination struck his fancy. They'd only seen Vadim openly angry a handful of times, but they knew that he could shift into some truly awful things, and poor Scott had been quivering like jelly just from being in the same room with him. “ **Ozimiri**.” And then on a deep subconscious, subdermal level that Scott and the Principal wouldn’t have been able to hear, “ ** _You cannot begin to comprehend how livid I am right now. Get out from under there, this instant_**.”

When they peeked out from under the sheet, the Principal was there with the school nurse, who looked shocked that Ozimiri was in front of her. The Principal's hair was wild now, and she was still holding the lance, which had a motherboard dangling from the point by a stray wire. Vadim looked perfectly put together, of course, but the air around him was burning a deep, angry chartreuse.

They tried to find something to say that might even come close to an excuse. "Uncle—"

" _Come here. Now,_ " Vadim said.

They sighed, and accepted their fate.

They half-thought that Vadim might explode in anger, right there in front of the Principal. But he was perfectly calm. “ _We are going home_.”

They nodded. “Bye, Scott,” they said.

“Nurse!”

Oz looked back. Scott was sitting up, still shaking, but not as badly as before. “Can Oz come to visit again?” He (she? they?) grinned. “You're really nice! Please come back?"

The warmth of Scott’s bravery pushed back a little on their Uncle's aura, which made it hiss and whip around. Scott didn’t seem to notice that his thoughts were broadcasting out in the open for anyone with even the slightest ability in telepathy to find; from within his mind, there radiated out so much joy. “ _My friend, Oz!_ ”

Vadim seemed as shocked as them. He gazed hard at Scott for a moment, then gently guided them forward by the shoulder. “ _Come_.”

Now that he’d been flustered, Vadim hustled them out of the school, not even stopping to suck a little Fear out of Principal Llorona’s secretary, who would have been an easy target with her clinical depression. Once they were far enough out of sight from any lingering eyes, Vadim rounded on them. His eyes burned with white-hot anger. In their mind’s eye, they saw their darkest fears coming true: sitting alone in the castle, taking notes, while _Vadim_ gave them lessons in comportment. It looked so real that they wanted to scream, and never stop screaming.

“How dare you,” Vadim said.

“I just wanted to—”

“Stop. I don't care about your excuses.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are Ozimiri Emilijos Kaivaltytė-Yesfirovich. You represent 10,000 years of our foremothers in your embodiment. Every action extends that legacy, is a sign of your family’s power.” He breathed out through his nose. “They _do not_ hide under a sheet on the floor.”   

 _Like you'd ever let me forget who my family is_ , they thought. Rather than scared, they felt angry. They hadn’t done anything really wrong. No laws were broken, no one was hurt. The only thing they’d really done was embarrass _Vadim_. Maybe that would have been a capital offense, if he had his way.

“I know.” Then they said, coolly, “I was being an ambassador for our Kingdom. I was conferring with the emissary to the werewolves.”

"That mutt? Please. He couldn't have been more than a few weeks old," Vadim said.

"Shut up! Leave Scott alone!"

Vadim looked downright murderous. "May I remind you that I have yet to give my report to the queen, without which you cannot hope to have your request granted? Mediate on that on the way to the portal. Otherwise we're going to be late for your appointment."

They walked from the school into the city. Ozimiri sweated in their heavy velvet jacket in the sun, but they knew better than to ask Vadim to _get on with it_. He never summoned a portal in a building that he considered “beneath their family’s dignity.” Finally, they glided into the lobby of a luxury hotel. “I'll warn you now,” Vadim said as he ignored the doorman, “Don't get your hopes up. That school is far beneath you.”

“Why? Because they would require me to read _books_? Think my own thoughts? It might as well be asking for an insurrection.”

Vadim's face darkened. "I would prefer _silence_ the rest of the way, Princeling." It was an order, not a request.

* * *

To even get to this point, they’d had to make a formal request to her Majesty the Queen to choose their own school. Vadim had grumbled that Gintara had even allowed it—in _his_ day (aka the Stone Ages) a Prince(ling) of the Shadows followed the traditions of their family with deference, grace, and _gratitude_ , accepting the wisdom of what had been practiced for centuries.

Yeah, right. Like Ozimiri was going to do _that._

Making a formal request was a process. They’d done it once before, but it technically hadn’t been legal because they hadn’t been properly presented, which an underage shadow was required to do. When they had come forward with this one, their mother made sure that they followed the full process to a T. They spent the next month filing paperwork with various agencies, and once those had been approved, they still had to face the queen herself.

Before they could grab the handle to the throne room, their Uncle stepped in front of the door. He put his hands on Ozimiri’s shoulders, pushing them back slightly so that they stood straight, and positioning their chin to be level with the floor. “Princeling. You have made a formal request of the Queen, which will now be considered in a _formal_ audience. When we enter, you will follow behind me at five paces. When you reach the bar, you will stop and stand silently, upright, hands folded behind your back, and wait for me to announce you. When the Queen summons you, you will approach, back straight, eyes on the floor, bow, and wait. When the Queen addresses you, you may then lift your eyes. You will stand silent and upright while she deliberates.”

Oz shifted a little, and he glared. “You will _not_ shuffle your feet or pick at your fingernails. You will comport yourself with deference and grace.”

They sighed. “Yes, uncle.”

“Good.” Vadim pursed his lips, and with a strangely gentle hand, tilted their chin up and smoothed their hair. “I have decided not to tell your mother about your little excursion. Consider it a sign of good will between us.”

They managed a sincere smile, or one sincere enough. “Thank you, Uncle. I know.” But all they think was, _Yeah, right._ Maybe he was scared that Ozimiri would tell their parents he lost track of them because he was _flirting._

“Now.” Vadim turned and opened the doors. Ozimiri counted his paces, and then followed after him.

Their mothers were seated on their twin thrones, in full gowns and regalia. The ceiling of the throne room twinkled, inlaid with dozens of gold stars that caught the of the light from the blue-burning lamps. There wasn’t a big audience like there would be for a real formal request, thank god. They would have probably thrown up if they had to defend their case in front of that many people. It was just their moms and their older sisters, Rūta and Serafina. Rūta was in full gown and her ceremonial sash, but Serafina still in her military uniform, bloody stains on the cuffs and collar as if they were jewelry.

Vadim paused at the bar. “The princeling Ozimiri Yesfirovich.”

“They may come forward,” Gintara said.

They approached like they were supposed to, and bowed at the waist, one foot back, staring exactly two inches above their other toe. “My queen.”

“You may rise. That was very good, Ozimiri. Very graceful.”

“Thank you, mother.”

His uncle cleared his throat. It took everything in Ozimiri’s being not to roll their eyes.

They bowed. “Forgive me, your majesty.”

Gintara smiled. “It’s all right. You can address me as your mother now. I hope you enjoyed yourself?”

Maybe it was because they’d been cooped up with Vadim for so long, but now that there was someone who actually cared, everything came spilling out at once. “Oh, mother, it was perfect! Just like a movie. There were lockers and a cafeteria and everything! The principal was really nice, and she asked me my pronouns. And I made a friend! I have to go to school there. Please?”

Yesfir hid a quiet laugh behind her hand. Gintara put up a hand to shield her eyes. Oz’s face was so bright, that it cast a soft silver halo.

She looked to their Uncle. 

Vadim folded his arms behind his back calmly. “This school was completely unacceptable.”

And just like that, their dreams withered and died in front of them.

“As I had feared,” he continued, glancing down at Oz. “The place looked like it was falling apart. The academic program covers the basics, but otherwise leaves much to be desired.”

“Did you speak to any of the teachers?” Gintara asked.

“I wasn’t able to. The school isn’t currently in session, for an amount of time I frankly find unnecessary. Three months is time that should be spent in the classroom.”

“It’s summer vacation,” Oz said. “It’s a thing!”

“There was one advantage,” Vadim said. “They have a very strong counter-revolutionary curriculum.”

“Really? At a public school?” Gintara asked.

“I was also surprised, your majesty, but the principal assured me that it was at the head of their priorities for administration. That being said, I have to recommend that the Princeling be educated at home, where we could design our own curriculum.”

“Everyone else does just fine in public school!” Ozimiri said.

“Ordinary monsters, yes,” Vadim said, “but you, your Highness, are not an ordinary monster, and you would do well to remember it.”

Yesfir cleared her throat. She smiled serenely, tapping one nail against her diamond throne. “I went to public school.”

Vadim’s face stuttered.

Yesfir smiled at Gintara. “If I may.”

“Of course.” Gintara knit their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand. “My queen.”

“I think it would be good for Ozimiri. I know you're very concerned about the quality of academics, love, but we can't keep them cooped up in the house like this."

“Ozimiri is a princeling of the Shadows.” Vadim said. “It would be completely inappropriate for a young… _person_ , of their standing, to be gallivanting around with monsters of questionable lineage.”  

“Versus staying at home with you,” Yesfir said. “Learning how to marshal Fearmongers and cross-stitching.”

Vadim gave her a dark look. “ _Embroidery_ is an ancient and respectable art practiced for centuries by our foremothers. It teaches patience, elegance, and fine motor stabbing.”

Serafina leaned over to Rūta. “A needle might be too much for them. We wouldn’t want baby Ozimiri to prick themself.” 

Yesfir gave Gintara a pleading look. “Please. Ozimiri is _my_ child. Shouldn’t I have the final say? I accepted every decision you made for the girls.” 

“They are also a princeling of this realm who will have to support their mother and sisters. They must enhance power of the crown,” Vadim said. “And as they are _not_ a prince of the blood, they must do so in the proper way.”

“You want my child to be a _bauble_ for you to put on display and manipulate! I’m sorry, I won’t allow it.”

Gintara sighed tiredly.

Rūta raised her hand. “Your Majesty, is this going to go on for much longer? As important as this discussion is, we’re meeting with our ambassador tomorrow and I would like sufficient time to review my notes.”

Serafina added, “I have to drill my militias before they go on patrol at sunset. You know, something _actually_ important.”

“Have a little more patience, girls.” She turned to Ozimiri. “Princeling. Do you have anything to add?”

Oz felt their stomach seize. They really just wanted to hide. Vadim’s residual anger lapped hot at their ankles, and they saw the look of annoyance on Rūta and Serafina’s faces. _Baby Ozimiri, ruining everything._

They swallowed. “If I go to school there...it, it _will_ enhance the power of the crown. I-I can observe other monsters. How they act, what they think like. Because, what’s the point of knowing how to terrify people if it’s all in the abstract?”

Gintara was famous amongst the nobility for having the ultimate poker face in official matters. One countess had called it “the Face of Death,” because it was unflinching in the face of any pleading, any extenuating circumstance. The law was inviolable, and she was the arbiter of that law. But, for a moment, they could have sworn they saw the flicker of a smile on her face.

She arched an eyebrow. “A very interesting argument.”

Oz didn’t feel _relieved_ , per say, but there was hope. 

“I am ready to make my decision. It will be final, no appeals.” She paused. “The Princeling Ozimiri Yesfirovich _will_ attend this school.”

Oz held in a gasp. Yesfir’s shoulders relaxed.

“Vadim, notify the school that they’ve been chosen for the honor of educating a Princeling of the Shadows. Find out anything they will require, and arrange for it.”

Vadim hesitated, but bowed. “Your Majesty…what of the princeling’s training in their Dark Abilities? This school offers nothing of the kind.”

 “They will continue their lessons in the morning before school.” Then Ozimiri felt themself rooted to the spot, listening with intent. Their mother’s eyes turned hard and glassy as diamonds. “Anything less than straight As, and we’ll have to reconsider. All right? Academics are most important thing.”

They nodded eagerly. “I promise. I’ll get perfect grades!” 

“See that you do. You will also continue your piano lessons—two hours a day, three days a week, and one on Saturday and Sunday.” Their mother kissed Yesfir’s hand, and came down off her throne. “I’ll be down later to help you with the laundry. Make sure you finish your reading for Advanced Feminist Studies. This session is adjourned.” 

They bowed a quick bow, walking backwards, already heading for the door. “Thank you. Thank you, your majesty!”

Once they were out of the throne room, they jumped from shadow to shadow all the way up to their room at the top of the house, threw themself onto their bed, and kicked their legs in the air. “Yes! Yes yes yes!”

A heart Formed itself in the cavern of their interior, and beat hard against their chest. 

* * *

It took an entire morning of showing Gintara clips from YouTube to convince her that summer vacation was a real thing, and not something that they made up. With a little negotiating, they convinced her to let them have the rest of the summer for themself. Except for training in their Dark Abilities, they spent most of their days either reading, walking through Monstropolis and the Cities Below, or practicing piano.

Music had been the single most persistent force in their life, other than Fear. Before she’d married, their mom Yesfir had been an actress and opera singer. It was how she met their mother: she was starring as the Phantom in a production of _Phantom of the Opera_ when her mother attended the theater for the very first time. Supposedly by the end of the first act, Gintara had fallen completely in love with her. Her entire life had been music, and she taught them to love it, too. They'd been taking piano lessons even before they'd started homeschooling, and had played through Mozart and Tchaikovsky’s entire oeuvre, to the point where they could play most of the piano concertos without really looking at the sheet music.

They had lessons three days a week, and on Saturdays and Sundays they would practice for one hour on Yesfir's piano in the tower. She didn't always stay the whole time because she was often pulled away by other things, but ever since they'd gotten approval for their new school, she stayed without fail.

Today they were practicing a piano version of the _pas de deux_ between Odile and Siegfried from Swan Lake. Their mom waited until they reached a pause, and stopped them to adjust their hand position. “Keep your touch a little lighter. This part has that lighter, ethereal quality, before it picks up again.”

They nodded and started over. To keep it interesting, each breath, they imagined a different part of the lake in their mind. First the trees, with dark leaves that flashed silver in the breeze, then the lake, cool, with deep purple waters, and even the muddy bank, soft and squidgy in some places, cliffy in others, with peeping frogs and skunk cabbages.

The alarm for the end of their practice hour went off just as they finished. Yesfir smiled, and it was like the entire sun filled their chest. “That was beautiful. Wonderful job.”

“Thanks.” They stretched their fingers, looking up at the posters for past productions that were up on the walls. She didn't display as much memorabilia as she had; she kept most of it in the attic, in special storage boxes. She even had some of her old costumes up there, though they weren't supposed to mess with them. Of course, they hadn’t been Manifested when she was still performing, but their mother told them that she was a force on stage, so beautiful and compelling that monsters would often disrupt the performance, cheering or screaming for it to stop. She was a master at using her Dark Abilities within her roles, and it affected the audience too. They wondered what it was like, to be so beautiful.

 _Like that’s ever going to happen to you_. So they turned back to thinking about music.

“Hey mom. What do you think happens to Odile?”

“Hmm?”

They shrugged. “It seems like she lives a really sad life. No one knows anything about her. She’s barely there, except when her father uses her to try to trick Siegfried. He dies, and Odette dies, but what happens to her?” Oz played a little more of the _pas de deux_ , the beginning, but too soft and light for that section _._ “I think there should be a ballet about that.”

Yesfir considered for a moment. “What do you think happens?”

“…Maybe she runs away. To St. Petersburg. No, Berlin. She goes to work in a bookshop, where she learns about a whole world that she never knew in the forest from the books that she reads. She becomes a _modern_ woman, cutting her hair and wearing men’s clothes.”

“It would be a good set-up for a ballet,” she said. “Maybe…the characters in the books start coming to life, and she dances with them.”

Ozimiri imagined Odile in flapper hair and black culottes, being pulled into a dance with José Arcadio Buendía from _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ , and they grinned. “I would want the plot to be more important, like it is in a movie or musical. Rather than a vehicle for the dances. Maybe…if someone was on stage, reading from different books that were part of the set, since the principal dancers can’t speak. It would change what happens every performance, because when you read different books you come away with something different. The dancers would have to come up with something on the spot.” They played a few chords from the _pas de deux_. “Or, fireworks. That would be cool.”

 Yesfir laughed, and kissed the top of their head. “You have the most fantastic mind, my love.”

She sounded so proud. It was too bad that an encyclopedic knowledge of classical music probably wasn't going to get them very far in their new school. She didn’t even like them to listen to popular music, because she thought it was simplistic, and they knew it was going to be a problem. They'd already started keeping a stash of CDs in the floorboards of their room, trying to get some sense of what normal kids were listening to these days.

“What if people at school think I’m weird?” they asked.

“Inevitably, some people will. That doesn’t mean it’s what you are, or that you should try to change for them,” she said.

“I know.” They said that because they had to, but really, they’d be willing to change _a lot_ if it meant they would have someone hang out with after school, and not have their fingers or any other parts broken. “I just want to find out who _I_ am. Who Oz Yesfirovich is.” 

They wanted to be BOLD, FUN, CREATIVE. They wanted to be _something._ Something all their own, far, far away from _Ozimiri Kaivaltyt_ _ė-Yesfirovich_ , Princeling of the Shadows.

The summer couldn't end fast enough. It was time to stop being afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this took me a month and two weeks longer to write this than I intended. Oh well. Apparently I'm being possessed by the spirit of Leo Tolstoy. 
> 
> Just to give readers a sense of where this is going: the story starts in middle school (which will be the next chapter), but the bulk of it will take place at good Ol Spooky High. There will be more OCs in this story than I usually like in a fic myself, but after a month of writing and thinking, I've had a LOT of time for plot and character development and I've really come to believe that they can stand on their own as compelling characters. I hope that you'll end up liking them as much as I do, but understand if that turns some people off. 
> 
> The next chapter will be lots of Scott and Oz, as well as Juan the Magical Latino Cat (since we've had all of those adventures with him in Middle School)! I'm really looking forward to getting this fic going.


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